


Lovesick Loser

by viiuokii



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bisexual Richie Tozier, Eddie's a blind bitch, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Oneshot, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier has hanahaki disease, Richie's so desperately in love but is too scared to say anything, Sad Ending, Sad Richie Tozier, There's cussing, but also pretty gay, death parted them a little too early, don't get your hopes up for this one boys, don't read this if you're looking for wholesome fluff because oh boy this one's a kicker, sorry - Freeform, yeah this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viiuokii/pseuds/viiuokii
Summary: The one where Richie Tozier has feelings deep in his chest for his best friend Eddie Kaspbrak, so much so that it kills him.Or rather, the hanahaki reddie au that no one wanted.





	Lovesick Loser

Eddie Kaspbrak.

The only thing Richie Tozier could think about all day, everyday. 

And it made Richie sick.

Very sick.

It was senior year and recently Bill and Stan got together, two of Richie’s greatest friends, along with Ben and Beverly. He, Mike and Eddie would mostly hang out alone these days as the couples went out almost all the time. 

Richie knew he should be happy for his friends but it actually hurt him much more than he should let it. Seeing all of them so happy together always made him realize what he didn’t have; a significant other. More namely, Eddie.

Richie had feelings for Eddie since he was 12 years old. Five years of heartache. And now Richie was dying because of it. 

He loved Eddie; how could he not? The way he would get flustered when Richie would tease him and how cute he was when he was upset. He still had that baby face that he’s had since Richie could remember. Anytime he saw Eddie’s hand dangling from a chair or swinging at his side he wanted to grab it, squeeze it, hold it in his own. He could never do that though, of course. Derry was one of the most homophobic towns and he knew from the many stories of gays being stoned when they were only minding their business. He didn’t want that for Eddie.

So he kept all of his feelings inside.

“Out of curiosity Eds,”

_ Don’t call me that. _

“What would you do if I grabbed your hand and held it randomly?”

“I don’t know you weird stoner, probably flick it away. No one wants to touch you.”

Of course Eddie hadn’t meant that, obviously, as any of the losers would’ve told him the same thing. But it still hit him deep, deeper than he expected it to.

Richie was already slowly killing himself off; he wouldn’t stop smoking, no matter how much anyone told him to, in fact him and Beverly joked about being buried together when they would hotbox. It always bothered Eddie the most.

_ “Please Rich, you’re gonna kill yourself.” _

_ “Maybe that’s the point.” _

_ “Richie!” _

_ “I’m kidding! Who would you suck off if I wasn’t around?” _

_ “Beep beep, whore.” _

Richie didn’t actually want to die, he just didn’t want to live long enough to see Eddie happy with someone else, as he was positive he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Of course he would try his best to be happy for his best friend but it would be very hard. And he wasn’t at all prepared for that, and luckily he hasn’t had to deal with it yet. So far he’s the only one that can make Eddie smile like that.

This is why it didn’t seem like a surprise when one morning Richie was in the bathroom, coughing loudly. He had felt this pressure in his chest for a long time and always passed it off as allergies, but when he started coughing and hacking he knew what was up. It was a thing everyone talked about, stories of people’s parents having this sickness and nearly dying before their love came and saved them. Though sometimes the stories didn’t end happily. There was one girl who’s sister, Betty Ripsome, died from the disease because the boy she yearned for turned her down when she needed him the most.

Hanahaki Disease, infamous for the beautiful flower growing inside someone’s lungs when they’re caught up in unrequited love, and when the person they love finally accepts them and loves them back, the person infected will cough up a beautiful flower of some sort. However it has to be true love from the other person, or it doesn’t count. If the person doesn’t return that love and the two don’t end up together, then the infected’s lungs will be strangled with vines, and they’ll die. 

Richie had no clue what to do when his mom rushed him into the doctor’s office late one night after she arrived home to see her son on his hands and knees, coughing up blood ruthlessly on the kitchen floor. The doctor had diagnosed him with Hanahaki Disease, to which Maggie Tozier started crying. She was never home, she blamed herself, said she was sorry, but Richie said the same thing,

“It’s not your fault, ma.”

And he knew for sure that it wasn’t; it was his own. It was his own fault for falling for his best friend, developing feelings in the first place. Why couldn’t it be like Bill and Stan’s relationship? One where they realized they were in love long before the seed sprouted? Maybe Eddie didn’t love him. Or maybe he did, but Richie was always far too scared to ask. The only ways it would come out was in cocky ways, the way he would always phrase sappy things to his friends. Like that time when Bill fell off his bike a few years ago when they were riding to the quarry:

_ Gee, Billy, at least you only broke your knee! Your dick could’ve been sliced off by the bike wheel!  _

Bill was in the hospital for a few days and they laugh about it now, but Richie wish he had asked an ethical question, such as “are you alright?” Maybe if he was like that to Eddie, similar to the way Stan was with Bill who did in fact ask that question, he wouldn’t be in this situation. So therefore Maggie had nothing to blame herself for.

It was all Richie’s fault.

If he was bitter, he would also say it was Eddie’s fault, for being so perfect and beautiful and oblivious, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t blame the person he cared so deeply for. 

Richie did his research, grabbing all the books he could find about this nuisance. Nearly every book said the same thing, that people live from 5 months up to several years with this disease, that it all depended on how much you loved the person you wanted to be with. 

Richie knew he was in deep shit when he read this.

He knew he had to do something, confess to Eddie, tell him how he felt, hold him and kiss him and tell him how beautiful he was, that he should never think little of himself. He knew he could make Eddie happy, he knew he could make him feel loved when Eddie didn’t. Richie Tozier had lost his heart to Eddie Kaspbrak and he knew he was going to lose his life because of him too.

There were all sorts of opportunities to tell Eddie just these things, like those late nights at the quarry when it was just them after all the other losers had left, or when they were passing notes in class, or when they were bird watching with Stan- he could’ve just grabbed Eddie’s hand if he wasn’t such a coward while they were walking.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was too afraid of what Eddie would say, think, do. 

_ What the hell, Richie? _

_ ‘Who does he think he is? He needs to go away right now.” _

_ Eddie jumps and smacks Richie’s hand away, walking faster to catch up with the rest of the losers. _

These, of course, were the worst outcomes. But Richie didn’t let himself think of the better ones, ones where Eddie actually accepts his love, because those were way too unrealistic.

Richie kept a journal to write his feelings in, to document his pain. He would often sketch awful doodles of Eddie as he wasn’t the best artist, but he tried his best. He wrote love letters that Eddie would never receive or read, ones straight from his broken heart. He never slept anymore, as he was afraid of dying in his sleep, so doing these things kept him up peacefully.

“Hey Rich. How are you feeling today?” Beverly had asked one day, the only one of the losers who knew about his situation. Of course she would, he spent nearly everyday with her, sharing joints and snagging weed from various dealers. It was bound to come up at one point.

“I’m alright,” Richie had smiled, doing his best to reassure her that he was actually fine when really, he wasn’t. It had been two months since his diagnosis, and things were only getting worse. It was more difficult to breathe and now when he coughed, little flower petals would fall from his mouth. They were bright pink; he and Beverly wondered what kind of flower was growing in the depths of his lungs, killing him beautifully.

_ Guess we’ll find out soon enough. _

He tried his best to distract himself from everything, and that was easy, although one thing was always peering through Richie’s mind.

Eddie Kaspbrak.

Every paper in his room was an acknowledgement of him. Whether it was his name, his face, a love poem dedicated to him but never shared. If people knew some would call him a psychopath, but Bev told Richie that if it helped calm his nerves than it was fine. And really that’s all that it was. It’s not like he was drawing Eddie nude and getting off to it; that wasn’t the case at all. It was usually his face with little messages beside it or hearts. Beverly had bought him a few sketchbooks and notepads so he wouldn’t run out of paper in the time he had left.

_ “Do you think I’m gonna die, Bev?” _

_ “Richie you know I can’t answer that question. It’ll be okay.” _

_ Richie was crying. _

“Richie, you look awful.” 

Four months. Four months in total had passed by and now here he was with Eddie, in an old ice cream parlor that not a lot of people went to anymore.

“Gosh Eds, hitting me right where it hurts.” Richie had laughed, though he knew it was true. His complexion was extremely pale, he had bags under his eyes from barely sleeping. He would only sleep when Beverly was over; she promised to wake him up if he was coughing violently, which happened quite a lot in the last month. 

She was over almost every night.

“Are you alright these days? You just look… sick,” Eddie looked into Richie’s eyes with ones filled with concern.

“I’m quite alright, my good sir!” Richie had declared. Like a liar. “Believe me, the Rich-man is never sick. For he does not have time for that.”

“Well, alright then,” Eddie smiled, shaking his head. “So any reason why it’s just us 

here, hm?”

_ Yes, I love you, and I need you to be with me forever. _

“Not necessarily. Just wanted some one on one time.”

“That’s strange, Rich, but I guess it’s what to expect from a strange guy.”

“You know me. They call me ‘Doctor Strange.’”

“They literally don’t.”

Richie bit his tongue back from saying the inevitable.

“Uh actually,”

Eddie looked up with a smile still plastered on his face. Richie felt his insides tense up, he felt the flower writhing in his lungs.

“There  _ is  _ a reason I have you here. And it’s… it’s really something crazy, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that, dork.” Eddie laughed lightly.

There was that feeling again.

“Well, you see-”

Eddie was staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve fallen into this predicament. And it’s not a great one.”

Eddie laughed. “When are you ever involved with something good?”

The feeling.

“That’s very true.”

It was hard to breathe.

“But uh,”

Where was the air? 

“You’re-”

_ Shit. _

“I-I’m-”

_ Get out, save yourself. _

Richie’s inner-elbow snapped to his face as he coughed loudly several times, and when 

he pulled back he saw dark crimson splattered over his jacket.

“Richie? Are you alright?”

“Yeah-”

_ No. _

Richie’s hands flew to his mouth as more blood came from his lungs and he ran out the parlor door, running far enough behind the building and into an alley where he dropped to his knees, coughing and sputtering, praying and hoping that Eddie didn’t come around the corner looking for him. Richie felt his breathing start to ease as the time went by. This disease apparently took the term “choked up” very literally. 

After a few minutes Richie was able to shoot a text to Eddie:

_ Horrible stomach bug! Man, gotta love those viruses! _

A couple minutes later Richie’s flip phone buzzed in his pocket as he was sitting in the 

alleyway against a wall.

_ hope you feel better, trashmouth. _

Even the most simple text that didn’t mean much at all got Richie worked up again, and he started coughing, petals coming up and out of his strained throat. He dialed up Beverly and had her pick him up to take him home, where he begged her to stay with him for the night, and of course, she did.

After that charade, Richie knew he was going to die. He just didn’t know when.

The fifth month was the worst. It was early spring and trees were blooming, apples were falling, and flowers were sprouting and growing, along with the one buried in Richie Tozier’s throat.

The losers had gone to the quarry quite a bit, they were getting excited for graduation, even Richie, who knew he wouldn’t live long enough to walk up to receive his diploma. Every now and then they would go to sit underneath a giant cherry blossom tree and watch the clouds pass, or study for assignments, or to just sit in silence. Richie often went with Beverly to clear his head, and attempt to clear his lungs, but breathing always seemed impossible these days; he never slept anymore, even when Beverly was there, because the second he closed his eyes for a few minutes he could already feel himself start to choke on this cursed flower. He just hoped it was pretty.

_ Eddie’s gorgeous, so this flower will have the potential of Eddie’s beauty.  _ Richie thought this every time he coughed up those bright pink petals.

It was when him and Eddie sat on top of that hill with the cherry blossom tree alone during spring break that he knew this was his last time with him.

His smile seemed brighter, in fact everything seemed to dim in comparison to Eddie that evening. Richie couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

_ “Why are you smiling so much? What’s wrong with you?” _

_ “Stop looking at me, Trashmouth.” _

_ “You need me to resuscitate you? You look dead!” _

He didn’t even know that Richie would be in a few hours.

The sunset was beautiful, peaceful, and it set Richie at peace for what he knew was to come.

“Eddie, what would you do if I died?”

Eddie’s head snapped towards Richie.

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Just answer it.”

“Well, okay. It would be a shame, I mean Beverly wouldn’t have anyone to get high with and Bill wouldn’t have anyone to be obnoxious with. Stan would cease to be annoyed but we all know he would miss it, Ben would miss you calling his facts ‘lame’ and Mike wouldn’t have someone to play poker with, even if he knows he’ll beat you every time.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Well yeah. I asked you.”

“I wouldn’t have a best friend,” Eddie shrugged, looking off into the sunset.

“What about the other losers?”

“They’re not you, are they?” He turned his head back to Richie.

Richie’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped himself from coughing.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

It was the ice cream parlor all over again.

Except this time he wasn’t going to live through it, there was no way.

“But I don’t like to think about that because I don’t know what life would be without you, you know? I don’t have to worry about that for now.”

Richie wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out but blood. He opened his mouth and blood and petals came spilling from it, the same bright pink petals as always. Richie’s eyes dripped tears as the pain was unbearable and all he could think about was how it would be over soon, and somehow that brought a sense a peace to his mind.

He rose quickly to his feet, his hands piling over his mouth in an attempt to hide the blood falling recklessly from his mouth in a waterfall. He ran down the hill towards his house that was thankfully very near; this tree was right near the middle of all the losers’ houses. He heard Eddie crying after him but he couldn’t turn back. He threw open the door to his house and dropped to the floor, blood and petals continuing to fall to the ground as he coughed. He could hear Eddie’s cries from outside coming closer; he was coming for him. He only hoped that he could hurry up and die before Eddie came in to see him like this.

Of course that wasn’t the case, the door swung open and there was Eddie, a crying and shouting mess.

Richie was still coughing as Eddie dropped next to Richie, grabbing his blood-stained hands and holding them tightly, shaking his arms to get his attention. Richie’s glasses fell to the floor as he looked up to meet Eddie’s gaze; blood dripped from his mouth and sputtered out with his coughs. 

“Richie, you should’ve told me,” Eddie cried. “You should’ve told me!”

Richie tried to reply but he couldn’t, only flower petals could drop from his mouth.

“Who’s this for?” Eddie sobbed, still holding Richie’s hands.

“You.” Richie heaved, speaking as clearly as he could.

“Me?” Eddie gasped, tears falling from his eyes. Richie didn’t want this. He was hoping he would die without Eddie around. 

He nodded, closing his mouth in an attempt to stop things but he couldn’t breathe that way, so his mouth fell open again.

“Why…” Eddie started, “Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve worked this out, right?”

Richie’s ears were ringing and he felt his eyes start to droop.

“Richie, please, talk to me, you’re gonna be alright!” Eddie squeezed Richie’s hands before taking his head in his hands. “Do you know why?”

Richie was incapable of responding in any sort of way besides slightly lolling his head to the right side.

“Because I love you too!” Eddie cried. “I do, it’s real, now can this stop? Please?” He said the last part to himself up to the ceiling, begging any sort of existence from above. 

Richie’s head dropped slightly and his coughing hitched for a moment before a vine spilled from his mouth; it was long and curled at the end. A few more of the same vine dropped out and hung from his mouth as he continued to cough, his head still poised in Eddie’s hands. He couldn’t make out what Eddie was saying but he was blubbering, begging Richie not to leave, to stay with him. Richie’s eyes flickered and he knew this was it. 

_ Richie- _

He fell backwards and all he saw was the ceiling until his head was turned towards a figure that took him a second to make out: Eddie. His love.

“Richie, please, I love you, I love you, you know I do! It’s not too late, it’s not too late, I swear it!” Eddie pleaded. 

Richie could see little leaves sprouting from the vines growing from his throat; they were a light green, spotless from blood despite it coming from his lungs. He turned his gaze tiredly towards Eddie.

“I love you. I love you.” Richie whispered in a gravelly tone, speaking around the vines. “I love you. So, so much.”

Eddie continued to sob as he watched Richie’s body relax and his coughing started to calm down as his eyes started to fall shut. All of Eddie’s words were drowned out as well as the whole world, and for once, he was finally at rest.

The flowers that bloomed from the vines hung side by side in the shape of a heart; they were pink with little white tips at the bottom that dripped with water: a bleeding heart flower. Eddie cried as he picked the biggest one from the bunch and held it in his hand close to his heart, Richie’s blood-stained hand still fallen in his lap. 

The days that followed that were the ones where Beverly uncovered and gave all of the sketchbooks and notepads that Richie filled to Eddie for him to keep, so that his love could be kept safe. Eddie had looked through them several times, not stopping to do anything but read the notes and skim through the drawings of him; even if they were crappy, he still loved them, because he loved Richie, and he was too blind to say anything before. To realize that Richie was very sick, all because of him. He read these messages so often that the pages were worn down with fingerprints, and his phone was probably tired of him going through his and Richie’s old texts and sending a “hello, I hope you’re doing good, ‘Chee, can’t wait to see you again. I hope the stars are beautiful from where you’re at, i love you” or something slightly different everyday for the rest of his life, and when he got a new phone he kept this old one just for Richie, hoping maybe one day he would reply. The messages and notes in the notepads and sketchbooks were sometimes sweet, sometimes sad and sometimes funny, and he couldn’t believe he had no idea about these prior, because now he can’t imagine living without them.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak. What’s so great about him? What kind of a question is that? He’s so great; everything about that boy shines brighter than a forest fire, isn’t it great? Forest fires are pretty bright.  _

_ February 14, 1994 _

_ Today is Valentine’s Day. Duh! Sometimes I forget though because if you don’t have anyone to celebrate it with, what’s the point of remembering? But today Eddie came in and gave all of us losers burnt ass cookies, said he left them in the oven too long because Ms. K forgot to tell him they were done. Even though they were burnt I still ate them, all of them, and I threw up afterward but it brought a smile to my face. _

_ Beautiful beautiful boy. _

_ Com[plex]ion could light up the whole wor[ld]. _

_ I know this will all end soon, and resting will be nice, but I will never stop thinking of you.  _

Eddie Kaspbrak graduated, went to college, got a good paying job, and went on with his life. But he never stopped reading those books; it was the only form of literature he would read. And he certainly didn’t stop loving Richie Tozier.


End file.
